The Rejected Mate And The Royal Lie

Chapter3

Chapter 3

Andrea:

The east wing was beautiful.

Cold, but beautiful.

High-arched ceilings, golden sconces glowing against deep navy walls, paintings that probably cost more than my entire childhood home, but none of it felt warm. None of it felt like it belonged to anyone. Like the palace had been built for power, not people.

This whole place felt like it was cold, like it was abandoned, void of any emotion that would follow, void of any emotion that would carry the meaning of home.

The maid who led me didn’t speak. She was young. Couldn’t have been more than eighteen. She kept her head down and her hands clasped, like even making eye contact with me would get her punished.

“This is your room,” she whispered, stopping before a tall double door carved with ivy and thorns. “You are going to be staying here. Everything that you need is going to be provided for you. All you need to do is ask and I will be sure, with the team, the maids that have been chosen for you will provide them. You don't need to worry about anything. You will be getting everything that you've wanted and everything that you need.”

How poetic.

“Thank you,” I said. “You don't need to be concerned. You sound too worried and I don't want you to be alarmed. I'm not going to hurt you.”

She blinked, startled, and quickly bowed before scurrying off down the hall. I frowned, but did not respond. I chose not to press on something that I did not understand. Or no, maybe they had their own conception of things. Maybe they had their own rules. I might as well not cross them. I did not want them to get in trouble because of me.

I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The room was large, tastefully furnished in muted silvers and charcoal, with a bed I could probably drown in. A row of windows looked out over the training grounds, but the drapes had been drawn closed. Probably intentional.

They wanted to isolate me.

Of course they did. They did not want the substitute bride to be appearing. I was nothing more than disgrace to all of them. They all wanted to see what it was for a woman to be married to him. Neither one of them wanted to be the one. And there was nothing more than a substitute, a sacrifice. Even my sister did not want to be in my place.

I walked to the vanity. My reflection stared back, flawless makeup, sculpted hair, the silver gown that clung to me like glass. I looked like the perfect bride. I looked like the Princess that everyone would be dying to be.

And I’d never felt more like a stranger in my own skin. And I've never felt like I was in more pain than I did in my life before.

“Don’t get comfortable, bride.”

Stefan’s voice echoed in my mind.

Arrogant. Dismissive. Controlled.

But underneath that cold mask… I had seen something flicker in his eyes. Not pain, not regret.

Strategy.

He was playing a game. Something about his expression told me that he was.

And I wanted to know why. I wanted to know why I felt the way that I did, and I wanted to understand why my wolf urged me to stay quiet, to stay calm, not to respond.

I turned away from the mirror and opened the closet. Rows of dresses waited, all in muted royal tones, gray, navy, deep wine. Nothing light. Nothing warm. I stared at them for a moment. They were all stylish. They were chosen, clearly made for Princess, but not made for happiness. Not made for a person who wanted to feel like she was at home.

It was like the palace dressed you in its mood. It was like this palace wanted to control everything that you felt, and it seemed to me that it reflected that in its clothes.

I pulled off the silver gown, changed into a soft black shift dress, and tied my hair up into a simple knot. No jewels. No paint on my lips. At least if I was going to be concealed in a room, I might as well be able to look at myself in the mirror while recognizing who stood in the reflection.

Let them see me as I am. I did not care. And their eyes? I was nothing more than a substitute anyway.

A knock came at the door.

Before I could speak, it creaked open, and a woman stepped inside, tall, blonde, dressed in a sleek crimson gown that screamed I don’t follow the rules, I break them for fun.

Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, amusement dancing at the corners of her mouth.

“You must be the substitute,” she said, tone syrupy and condescending. “Admirable, really. Throwing yourself on the altar like that. Did you not feel concerned or worried that the offer would humiliate you? Or did they not tell you of his condition?”

“And you are?” I asked, folding my arms.

She laughed, like I’d said something cute.

“I’m Ava. The prince’s chosen. You know, the real one.” She said casually. “I believe that you were still the substitute also of your sister. It seems to me that she was smarter to reject him. Why didn't you choose the same fate?”

So this was the Luna-in-waiting. The one the court was whispering about.

I didn’t flinch.

“Then what are you doing here?” I asked calmly. “Territorial already? If you wanted him, you would have been the one walking down the altar. I wouldn't have needed to be doing so.”

She smiled, teeth sharp. “Just wanted to get a look at the woman everyone’s talking about. The rejected mate, the poor substitute bride. Must be awkward to know that he does not want anything to do with you and yet you are here, forced to be his wife while being concealed in another room, hidden from eyesight. They didn't even bother opening the curtains for you. It should have been clear to you that they don't want you being seen.”

I stepped forward, just once, just enough for her to register that I wasn’t the kind of girl who backed down.

“Awkward,” I said coolly, “is showing up uninvited to the room of the woman who’s wearing the ring. Temporary or not, I’m the one legally bound to him now. Which means you’re standing on my rug. And I would suggest that you find it in yourself to just leave rather than stay in my shadow. Wouldn't you agree if I'm the substitute? Guide It does not mean that you are the initial one, especially considering the fact that you stepped back. I am the legal wife.”

Her expression flickered for a second.

Just long enough.

She recovered fast, but I saw it. The hesitation. The confusion. The fear she’d poked something sharp and wasn’t ready for the wound it left.

“I see,” Ava said lightly, turning for the door. “You’ve got teeth. For now. But don’t mistake his silence for interest. He only keeps you here because he has to. It is only a matter of time before he tires of you and throws you out.”

“And yet,” I called after her, “Considering the fact that you are choosing to not want to be the bride that he has, you are here and I am the one and the initial wing as his wife.”

She didn’t respond as she left.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

I stared at it for a moment, then walked back to the window and yanked the drapes open. The late afternoon sun poured in, lighting up the darkness they tried to wrap me in.

Let them scheme. Let them whisper.

I wasn’t here to be anyone’s placeholder.

And if Stefan Blackwood thought I’d just play the part until he tossed me aside?

He was in for a rude awakening.